


The Troublesome Business of the Universe Constantly Reminding Me of You

by ravenslight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon What Canon?, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Birthday!, Mutual Pining?, Pining, Remus is self-sacrificing, be nice pls, my first Remione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 17:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenslight/pseuds/ravenslight
Summary: Remus Lupin is self-sacrificing to a fault, but Hermione has no time for that nonsense. When he gets it into his head that he’s no good for her, she lays a plan to force him into realising that she’s exact what he needs. A birthday gift for mcal





	The Troublesome Business of the Universe Constantly Reminding Me of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mcal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcal/gifts).

> This fic is a birthday gift for my dear friend mcal. Thank you so much for being who you are. You bring so much joy and light into this fandom, and I'm incredibly grateful to count you amongst some of my dearest friends. Every day, I am honored and delighted to be in your presence and to share the world with someone who lives so selflessly and loves others so wholly. So many people could learn so much from you, and I'm genuinely grateful that you allow me to be part of your world. For your legendary reviews; your beautiful, lyrical writing; and your endless wisdom, we are all so lucky to have you. I hope today is the best of days because you truly deserve it. Happy birthday, lovely lady!
> 
> This is unbetaed, so any grammar and spelling errors are my own, for which I profusely apologize.

**The Troublesome Business of the Universe Constantly Reminding Me of You**

“Hermione, I don’t think we can see each other anymore.” Remus’ voice rumbled through her, but she didn’t respond, instead flipping a page in her book idly as she waited for him to continue. “What would everyone think? I’m so much older than you; no one would understand.”

Exasperation welled up inside her, and Hermione settled the book on her chest, looking up at him. Her head rested in his lap, his fingers combing soothingly through her hair. “Remus, how many times have I—”

His fingers stilled, a crease settling between his brows as he stared unseeing at the fireplace. Only when he set the book he’d held in his free hand aside did the seriousness of the situation set in, and a thrill of genuine fear underscored her exasperation. “I can’t be the reason that you’re ostracised, Hermione. You very well could be on your way to becoming the next Minster for Magic.” He slipped his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You can’t have a ratty old werewolf holding you back.”

She swung upright on the couch, righteous indignation colouring her scoff. “You are not  _ old _ , first of all. Second, I don’t give a rat’s arse if you’re a werewolf or not—neither did the Wizengamot when they awarded you an Order of Merlin, First Class for your contributions to the Light’s side during the war. Tonks certainly didn’t mind, and I’m sure Harry would like us to just get the news out there so he doesn’t have to keep covering for us every Merlin-be-damed day.” She ticked each item off on her fingers, trying to stave off the explosion she could feel simmering in her core.

Remus pushed to his feet. “I know where you stand on the subject, and I’m not trying to say that I don’t want to be with you, because I do—more than anything.” He sighed and turned back to her, hands on his hips, and Hermione couldn’t keep her gaze from roving over his built frame—yeah, he was anything  _ but  _ old and decrepit—that was hidden under his cable knit sweater. “But maybe we ought to cool it while you run your campaign.”

She opened her mouth to protest, then snapped it shut again. Remus had already waved his wand, summoning his personal effects from around the room. With another flick of his wand, his suitcase opened and the items neatly arranged themselves within before it closed with a  _ snap.  _

Heart in her throat, Hermione followed him to the fireplace, anxiety crawling up her throat as she realised that he was serious. Uncertainty coloured her voice, and she grabbed his wrist just as he was scooping a handful of Floo powder out of the pot. “Remus are you— are we breaking up?”

His shoulders slumped beside her, and a brilliant thrill of hope ran through her as he dropped the powder back into the container and gripped her shoulders tightly. But then he shattered it when he tilted her chin upward and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and stepped back, the foot between them feeling like a gaping chasm. “I just want what’s best for you.” 

The words struck her dumb, and he picked up the handful of Floo powder, tossed it into the flames, and called out his office at Hogwarts. With a brilliant flash of green, he disappeared into the flames.

She felt like she’d been punched. The air in her lungs rushed out on a disbelieving sob, and her knees turned to jelly beneath her as she sunk to the floor. 

Where in Merlin’s name had that come from?

As the tears ran down her face and she racked her brain for the cause of his sudden departure when—all things considered—they’d been doing remarkably well, the sorrow quickly turned to confusion, which in turn festered into anger. Shaking her shoulders and shooting the Floo a sour look, she approached the couch and flopped down, jarring the book loose from where it sat cracked open across the arm.

A thud punctuated its contact with the floor, but Hermione was much more captivated by the newspaper article that fluttered out of the open pages. As she picked it up and scanned the headline and byline, everything clicked into place and a roil of fury rolled through her.

_ Dumbledore’s Pet Dog Dating Demure Ministry-Deligate? An Investigative Report by Rita Skeeter _

_ Hermione Granger has certainly been making headlines recently, especially as her campaign for Minster for Magic heats up against favoured candidate Reformed Death Eater Draco Malfoy. But word around the water cooler is that Miss Granger has picked up a stray!  _

_   
_ _ A reliable source reached out to me, under the condition of anonymity, that young Miss Granger has been engaging in quite the sordid relationship with a man of questionable lineage! Is this the kind of leadership the wizarding world needs after the fall of such a dark presence not too long ago? _

_ Turn to page A4 to to learn more about devious Miss Granger as we uncover her latest secret spurred by her taste for famous wizards. And remember, Skeeter reports; you decide! _

The corners of the paper furled as a jet of accidental magic scorched its corner, and Hermione seethed to herself.  _ That fucking woman _ — apparently a year in a jar hadn’t diminished the woman’s need for sensationalism, and Hermione was bound and determined to make her pay.

But first… she had to get her man back. 

She rose from the couch in a flurry of curls and curse words and stomped across the room. Her voice was barely intelligible when she growled out “Grimmauld Place!” and stuck her head in the flames.

“Harry!” Her voice echoed through the parlour and she fought the urge to roll her eyes when she heard his ambling steps echo through the house. When he still didn’t appear a moment later, she bolstered herself, sucked in a breath deep into her lungs, and bellowed, “Harry James Potter, get your ruddy arse in here  _ right this second!”  _

The footsteps quickened until she saw the door swing open, and a breathless Harry Potter stood at the hearth. “Hermione, what in Merlin’s name is going on? It’s eleven o’clock on a Sunday?”

Exasperation roiled through her, and she stepped fully through the flames, wrinkling her nose as soot settled on her shoulders and in her hair. “First, you need to clean your Floo; it’s filthy. Second, I need your help.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, so comically she might have laughed had she not been holding on to every last bit of willpower she had not to go maim Rita Skeeter. “I’m sorry, ‘Mione, but I need to make sure I heard that correctly.  _ You  _ need  _ my _ help?” He tentatively approached her, pushing his sweater up his arm and laying a hand on her forehead. “Are you sick?”

“No, I’m not sick, you prat.” She pushed past him and out into the hall. The loud clap of the door against the wall awoke Walburga’s portrait, and gods-awful screeches filled the hallway, but Hermione snarled a spell as she stormed past, immediately silencing the portrait. “Remind me to burn that wretched thing off the wall once this is all over.”

Harry followed her into the kitchen, watching in silence as she prepared them both a cup of tea, shoved one into his hand, and then collapsed into a chair. “Sit.” She gestured at the chair across from her, and Harry slid into it. After a beat during which she took a hearty sip of her tea, she spoke. “Remus ended things.” 

Harry spluttered, tea spewing across the table as he coughed, and her nose wrinkled at the display. “He  _ what? _ What’d he do that for?” 

A flick of her wand answered his question, and his copy of the  _ Daily Prophet _ landed between them. Another flick opened it to the article, and she waited patiently as he scanned the page, mottled red rising up his cheeks until he threw the article down. “What the  _ fuck!” _

“Exactly.” She flexed her fist, visions of what she’d do to the woman when she found out running through her head—another year in the jar, researching a way to trap her in the animagus form permanently… whatever worked, really—before she looked at Harry. “Now, this is where you come in.”

Harry waved his wand, summoning a bottle of Ogden’s, and poured a generous helping of it into his tea. “I have a feeling I’ll need this.” He tilted it in her direction and, against her better judgement, allowed him to pour some into her glass as well.

“You’re a man,” she started, and when he scoffed and opened his mouth to respond, she shot a withering look at him and continued. “Tell me what Ginny did to win you over.”

“Brilliant observation there, ‘Mione.” He considered her for a moment, and then said, “Easy. She shagged me to within an inch of my life after a Quidditch match. That was that.”

Despite her reservations, she allowed a laugh to bubble over. “As much as I’d love to, I don’t think that’s an option with Remus. He’s rather reserved.”

He tilted his head. “I don’t know, ‘Mione. I’ve heard you guys a time or two, and—unpleasant though the experience was—he doesn’t exactly strike me as the reserved type.” 

Hot embarrassment raced up her cheeks and she looked down at her hands. “It was only a few times, and really only when it’s close to the full moon…”

Harry’s face blanched and he abandoned his mug on the tabletop in favor of shoving his fingers in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head back and forth rapidly. “I can’t hear you! Nope, don’t want to know.” When he peeled one eye open, he said, “I’ll help you if you promise  _ never  _ to tell me about your sex life again.”

She extended her hand. “Deal.” A quick shake sealed it, and she leaned conspiratorially over the table, quirking a brow at Harry. “Let’s get to work.”  
  


* * *

After an hour of back and forth, a short respite for a snack that Ginny tried—and failed—to prepare for them, and several more shots of firewhisky, Hermione had a plan.

“So what? I just waltz up to him and tell him that he can’t leave?” Her voice was higher than normal, the absurdity of the plan clear in the harsh slant of her brow.

Harry shrugged, a slight sheen to his eyes from the alcohol. “Worked for Ginny—whose to say it won’t work for you?”

It was a fair point, but she also knew it wasn’t likely to be that easy. “And if he still fights it?”

“Then you’ve got to up the ante,” Ginny chimed in with a salacious wiggle of her brows. “Show him that you really want it. You have to go for grand gestures and whatnot.” 

Harry waved a hand at Ginny. “That— that is a brilliant idea.”

Doubt was a lingering presence in the back of her mind, but Hermione couldn’t help the hope that their words gave her. If it worked for them, how hard could it be?

* * *

Hermione was never asking Harry for advice again.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get Remus alone. Between coordinating different events for her Ministry campaign, volunteering at St. Mungo’s to keep her magic sharp, and trying to maintain an active social life, Remus managed to slip away from her nearly every time she managed to get within four feet of him. She sent him singing grams that danced and told him of her feelings. She wrote him cheesy poetry via owl post. She had his favorite chocolates delivered directly to him. And when she did corner him at a gala for Theodore Nott’s newest charity, she spotted Rita Skeeter over his shoulder grinning maniacally and muttering to her Quick Quotes Quill.

By the time she glanced back at Remus to convince him to sneak off with her, he was gone. 

And so she took a page out of Ginny’s book and planned to surprise him at home. 

Staring herself down in the mirror, though, she felt absolutely ridiculous. She’d piled her hair high up on her head with some Sleekeazy’s, painted a light pink lipstick on her lips, and dusted a chocolate shadow on her eyelids. Ginny had loaned her some fishnets stockings that she’d promptly discarded, but she had opted for a skirt a little shorter than she was comfortable with, an off-the-shoulder sweater, and stockings that felt vaguely more comfortable. With a sigh, she waved her wand, removing the lipstick and allowing her hair to tumble down wildly around her shoulders.

Feeling a little more like herself, she marched to the Floo and tossed a handful of powder in, shouting her destination.

She only allowed herself a moment of hesitation that Remus might have closed his Floo to her, but when she stopped spinning and landed on his hearth, she breathed a quick sigh in gratitude that his actions hadn’t quite met his words.

The Floo opened into the library of his cottage, bookcases lining the walls and overflowing with stacks of books with covers so worn she could barely make out the titles. Comfortable chairs decorate well-worn rugs, and she allowed herself a fond smile at one of the chairs they’d curled up in together to read. After a moment, she turned, intent on tracking him down in the house, but stopped dead in her tracks.

Remus stood at one of the floor-length windows, a tumbler in his hand as he watched the night fall outside. “I wondered how long it was going to take until you came here,” he said idly. “And now I owe Sirius five galleons; I wagered longer than he gave you credit for.”

She nodded, her confidence shaken at being surprised, and cleared her throat. “I—um, I wanted to talk to you.”

He watched her over the tumbler, the ice clinking together as he took a long sip. “About?”

Distant. If she had to pick a word to describe him, that’s what she’d use. It felt like there was a chasm between them, despite the relatively small age gap and physical distance in the room. “Remus, you know what this is about. What Skeeter wrote… you know it’s not the truth. I don’t care what anyone thinks about you!”

With a sad smile, he sank into one of the plush armchairs, his gaze still far away. “I know you don’t, but you have to understand that this isn’t just about us.” He was facing her with a sudden jerk of his head, his eyes shrewd and sharp. “Hermione, you know everything I’ve been through—the time travel, losing my mate, getting stuck in a timeline I don’t truly belong to. If someone were to uncover that—”

Hermione’s heart seized in her chest. “Remus, Dumbledore covered all of that up; there’s no record that you’re from another time. No one will ever know unless one of us says something, and I promise you that I’ll keep that secret until my grave.” 

“I know that, and that’s why I lo—” He froze, swallowing hard. “But we can’t risk it. We need your leadership, your sharp mind. I’m just a werewolf that, to everyone else, Dumbledore has taken mercy on and allowed to teach at Hogwarts.” In one fluid motion, he lifted the glass to his lips and downed the last of the whisky. “Maybe someday when you’re comfortably in office and all of this is just a distant memory, but right now, I can’t do this to you.”

A weight settled itself in her chest, and Hermione couldn’t breathe for the harsh pain it wrought throughout her, but she tried once more, crossing the room and kneeling before him. One of her hands landed on his thigh and the other crawled slowly up his chest. 

Remus tossed his hands up, pulling his shirt enticingly up over his taut abdomen as he rocketed out of the chair. “I’m here, Hermione, because the universe’s troublesome business of constantly reminding me of you.” His eyes narrowed at her accusingly.

Lips pulling up a delighted smirk, she dropped into the chair, slowly crossing one leg over the other with a deliberate caress. As intended, his gaze dropped to the exposed line of flesh that appeared at the top of her stockings, and her grin grew. “Funny how that works, isn’t it? Almost like it’s a sign.” She studied her nail bed, a warm blush crawling up the back of her neck and taking up residence on her cheeks when she saw his gaze snap up to hers.

“I know you’re doing this on purpose,” he accused. 

Her laughter tinkled out of her, filling the space between them as she crossed her arms beneath her bust. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—it’s the universe.” She unfolded her legs, pushed herself out of the chair, and stalked toward him, consciously throwing more sway into her hips than she normally did. His gaze darkened when her chest bumped into his, watching as his pulse point leapt. 

He swallowed hard, but his voice was gravelly when he spoke. “Hermione, we can’t—”

Not allowing him to finish the sentence, she stretched up onto her toes, brushing her lips along the column of his throat. A heady rush of adrenaline raced up her spine when he groaned into the kiss and slipped her lip between his teeth, nipping it lightly.

And then he was pushing her away, both of their chests heaving at the contact. Wild green eyes peered back at her, and her hands twitched at her side, begging her to weave her hands into his unruly hair and press herself back against him. When his gaze shuttered against her, her heart cracked. “I’ve got to go—I… I can’t do this to you.” He shuffled across the floor, shoulders drooping with defeat. 

“Remus, wait.” He held his hand up to stop her, but it only served to stoke her frustration further. “What about what  _ I  _ want? You’re not the only one in this relationship!”

If possible, his shoulders fell further, but he stepped into her space again, cradling her chin and tilting her face up to him. His lips pressed against her forehead in a chaste parting kiss. “I understand—and I don’t  _ want _ to do this—but I only want what’s best for you. And that’s not me.” Then he was gone.

Tears threatened, casting a hazy glaze over her vision, and she slumped to the ground, kicking her heels off in a fit of frustration. 

“Bugger.”

* * *

The next day, she stormed into Grimmauld Place, fierce determination welling within her once more after sleeping on their conversation and determining that it was—well and truly—a patently ridiculous objection.

“Hermione, you’re looking— bloody hell, what’s gotten into you?” Ron sat in the study across from Harry and Ginny, who looked at each other with twin expressions of apprehension. 

She managed a curt nod at Ron and plopped down on the floor. The first words out of her mouth were aimed at Ginny. “You said to up the ante. What did you have in mind?”

A wicked smile tilted Ginny’s lips upward. “How extreme would you like to go? 

Indecision was an anchor in her, and she spoke slowly as she weighed the significance of each word. “Whatever it takes, but we start small.”

Ginny nodded in understanding, but she snapped her gaze to Harry. “Get me a quill and some parchment and meet me in the kitchen.” She vaulted up from her chair, a whirlwind of ginger hair and manic smile, and grabbed Hermione’s wrist, dragging her toward the kitchen.

“Ginny! You’re a witch; why don’t you just—” Harry’s words echoed down the hall, drowned out by Ginny’s laughter. “I don’t care what you two do, but for the love of Merlin, behave yourselves!”

* * *

The next morning, a headline glared back at her from the front page of the  _ Daily Prophet _ :  _ Ministry Delicate Dishes on Love: A Special Report by Luna Lovegood _ . 

Hermione quickly scanned the article, colour rising to her cheeks and staining the tips of her ears as she read the article. It wasn’t that it wasn’t truthful—because it was; she’d realised by now that she wouldn’t be fighting half as hard for Remus if she wasn’t in love with him—but seeing it in black and white without telling him first felt almost like a betrayal. 

And it also felt strange to put it out there for the whole of the wizarding world to see, but she wasn’t going to take it back or act ashamed of him—she’d told him many a time that she would claim him no matter what, and now the proof was in the pudding. 

And clearly Sirius thought so too. Moments after the  _ Prophet  _ owl had delivered her copy and flown away with a hoot, a barn owl swooped through the open window of her flat, carrying a bright red envelope.

A Howler.

She couldn’t move fast enough, stunned by its presence, and it opened before her. Its sharp, paper teeth bared at her, and when it spoke, the dishes in her cabinets rattled dangerously. “HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER, YOU GET YOUR ARSE TO MY HOUSE RIGHT THIS INSTANT. REMUS SHIFTS THIS WEEK AND I WILL NOT HAVE YOU ARSEING WITH HIS EMOTIONS.” 

She cringed away, watching as the letter began to smoke. When it erupted in a puff of smoke, she sighed, scratching the back of her neck. When a second barn owl flew in moments later, she braced herself for the inevitable encore, but it simply dropped a plain sheet of parchment on the table in front of her. She unfolded it carefully, the curly script uncharacteristic of the gruff man who had written it.

_ He loves you too, _ it read.  _ He’s just scared for what this might mean. Give him time, but get over here and tell him to his face. He deserves at least that much. _

Emotion prickled in her throat, and she swallowed forcefully as she pocketed the note. Forgoing the Floo altogether, Hermione grabbed her bag, locked her apartment, and made her way to the Apparition point to give her plenty of time to clear her head.

By the time she made it to the front step of Remus and Sirius’ flat, her nerves had taken root, and she knocked cautiously on the door. When it opened to Sirius’ crooked grin, she couldn’t help the answering smile. “Thanks for having me over, Sirius.”

“You’re welcome here anytime, kitten. But you’ve done a number on him; won’t come out of his room, not even for breakfast, and you know how he is about fried eggs.”

A fist seemed to have snuck its way into her chest, as it clenched painfully. “May I?” 

“Go on up?” His brow flickered. “Go ahead; probably best not to knock. He wouldn’t let you in if you did.”

With a deep sigh, she set off to the stairs, taking them two at a time as her heart hammered in her chest. Taking a moment to gather her nerves outside his door, she slowly turned the handle and entered the room.

  
It hadn’t changed since the last time she’d been in it. Everything was neatly in its place, the bed made perfectly and photos hung on the walls in perfect alignment. Light filtered through the curtains on the west wall, and Hermione paused to admire the perfection of the space before she spotted him sitting with his back against the closet door.

He broke the silence first, staring up at her as she crossed the room in jerky, nervous steps. “You didn’t knock.”

A laugh bubbled out of her at the absurdity of the statement, but she shrugged anyway. “I didn’t think you’d let me in.”

After a beat, he responded, “You’re right.” His gaze dropped to the clipping he held in his hand. “What is this, Hermione?”

She couldn’t respond for a moment, admiring the way the sun lit his features and turned his blonde hair aflame. “The truth?” She chuckled half-heartedly, her heart flipflopping at the sudden joy in his features before he quashed it. “Ginny told me that I needed a grand gesture.”

A crooked grin screwed up one side of his face. “That’s grand, alright.” He glanced down at the paper, his features softening. “Did you mean it?”

“More than anything I’ve ever said in my life. Every word in that article is true, Remus.” She swallowed, crouching before him and cradling his chin in her hands. “I  _ love  _ you. I  _ want  _ you. No one else.” 

She held her breath as he leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering closed. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he breathed, nustling her hand. When his eyes flickered open, the pain in them made her falter. “And that’s why I have to let you go.”

Righteous indignation flared through her, and she shook her head harshly. “No, Remus, you don’t get to keep sacrificing your happiness like this. I can’t keep letting you put yourself on the back burner.” 

She sighed, standing up and pacing. She wanted to rant, to tell him where all of his theories and opinions of himself were wrong, but it was like talking to a brick wall. “I’ve told you what I want, Remus. It’s you; no one else. It’ll never be anyone else.” She threw her hands up, walking toward the door. “I’m not going to keep trying. I love you, but I won’t sit by and watch you make yourself miserable.” 

The door slammed between them, Remus’ pained gaze following her as his mouth dropped open to reply. 

* * *

Harry convinced her to continue trying, but by the end of the week, she was exhausted. 

Remus avoided her at every turn; she sent letters that were returned unopened, showed up at his flat to be turned away by an apologetic Sirius, even rode a broom to hover outside his window only to realise he’d glamoured it so she couldn’t see in. Before she knew it, the weekend he was set to return to Hogwarts loomed before her, and Hermione determined that she’d give it one final try before walking away with her head held high.

By some twist of luck, she managed to convince Sirius to let her in and now stood just inside the living room, waiting for Sirius to coax Remus out—per the agreement he’d acquiesced to when she presented him with the Ogden’s Finest she’d picked up on the way to the flat.

When she heard his voice echoing down the hall, she straightened her skirt and sweater, plastering on a nervous smile. 

“Mate, I’m only doing this for your own good.” Sirius’ voice rang out, louder than was necessary, and when he pushed Remus into the room, he shouted. “He’s all yours, kitten!” The door slammed shut with a bang, and they both stared at it as Sirius’ loud singing faded.

Slowly, Remus turned to face her, a frown working its way across his face. “What are you doing here, Hermione?”

She shrugged, crossing her arms in front of her. “I thought we should talk.”

“We’ve already talked.” He turned to observe a painting on the wall, and Hermione fought the scoff at seeing him stare intently at the painting he’d seen hundreds of times before.

Even as her logic told her to walk away, that there was no reasoning with the stone wall that Remus’ turned back had become, her heart begged her to try. And so she gathered the pieces of it up, forced it back together with every ounce of courage she could muster, and crossed the room until she stood just behind him. 

Remus’ shoulders were taut, his breath gusting out of him in heavy sighs, and hands braced on his hips. But he melted into Hermione when she stepped into him, her arms winding under the bows of his arms and coming to rest on his taut stomach, and her heartbeat quickened. He didn’t turn to face her, didn’t move to embrace her further, but it wasn’t a rebuke. 

After a swallowed sigh, she spoke into the fabric of his shirt, her words slightly muffled. “There’s something my mother used to tell me…” With a fortifying breath, she continued. “In any given moment, we have two options.” 

Under her palms, Remus’ breath caught, and he turned to face her. Sorrow coloured his eyes, but what drove the pain to her core was the deep self-loathing she saw etched into the lines of his face. Beyond the scars of battle and the wrinkles that had barely started to appear at the corners of his eyes, Remus looked tired, exhausted with the constant battle he fought with himself. “And what are they?” he whispered. 

Her hand slipped from where they rested on his chest and smoothed over his face, the way she caressed Moony in her Animagus form. He leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering closed. “We can step forward into growth…” Her voice hitched when he finally moved, finally snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her into him, their chests warming each other and calming the persistent fear in her. “Or we can step back into safety.”

Remus sighed and leaned down to press his forehead into hers. “Hermione, think of everything that would change. The way people think of you, your reputation in the wizarding world, your potential run for office. All of that could change.” His breath gusted over her in a self-deprecating laugh. “You could lose it all for a broken old wizard like me.”

Indignation well up within her. “You’re anything but broken, Remus, and you’re far from old.” Her palm flattened on his chest, and she leaned back to look him in the eyes. “This… this is what I want. Your heart, your love,  _ you _ . Remus, I’d do a thousand ridiculous things to prove to you that I’m meant to be with you. Regardless of what you look like, of what you’ve been through. I’d want you no matter the circumstances, at the end of it all or back in the beginning again.” She closed her eyes, summoning the last of her courage. “Step forward with me, Remus.”

Whatever he’d been about to say, the retort he’d likely spent countless hours dwelling on to destroy his confidence and try to dampen any feelings was forgotten, and Remus swore quietly under his breath. In the next breath, his lips crashed into hers.

It was… it was  _ everything _ . It was coming home. It was the first sip of tea that settled in the depths of her belly and warmed her soul from the inside out. It was finding the part of her that she hadn’t even realised had been missing. It was Remus, and it was everything she’d ever wondered.

Unbidden, she rose up onto her toes, carding her fingers through the sandy blond hair she’d tousled countless times, pressing herself so close to him that she couldn’t draw breath into her aching lungs, but she didn’t care, couldn’t bring herself to even consider breaking the embrace because it was everything she’d missed in the weeks since he’d walked away.

Too soon, though, Remus broke the embrace, drawing away from her and smiling at the protesting groan that slipped from her lips. He dropped kisses along the bridge of her nose, nudging hair out of the way as he nipped a trail down her neck and kissed the juncture of her shoulder and neck. Hermione shivered and goosebumps sprung to life on her flesh, and she felt Remus smile into her skin. And in that moment, she knew.

This—whatever it was—would be okay. Remus had come back to her. 

After a moment, he spoke. “How do we do this?”

Her heart soared, and she took a moment to swallow the knot of emotion that blocked her throat before she could speak. “I don’t know… but we’ll figure it out. Together.” It was a statement, but the way her tone lilted at the end made it a question, and she held her breath while she waited for his response.

“Together.” His confirmation broke the barriers down that had been holding her emotions back, and Hermione launched herself forward, peppering his face with frantic kisses as her legs wrapped around his waist. His laughter shook his shoulders, and happiness coursed through her, strong and vibrant, wiping away all the insecurities and fears she’d felt so keenly moments before.

And Remus… his face glowed, his own joy radiating from him and washing the years and heartache away from him. He was the same sweater-clad man she’d stumbled into in Diagon Alley, the same man she’d accidentally kissed at the Leaky Cauldron, the same man she’d held as he wept for his lost friend. He was the man who had grown into maturity far too quickly, the one who bore the sorrow no one should ever face. Most importantly, he was hers. 

Between kisses, Remus backed her down the hallway, stepping to press her back into the wall, between photos and against door frames as he backed her into his personal chambers, both of them too hungry for each other to wait long. When he dropped her amongst the pillows and quilts on his bed, love shone fiercely in his eyes. When he divested her of her clothing, his name rang through the room in her breathy exultations. And when they laid together in the warm afterglow, there was no more need to hide, no reason not to divulge every last thing she’d held back from him.

And they began their life together, murmuring their love to each other as the sun rose over the horizon and blanketed them in shades of gold. 

**Author's Note:**

> ENDLESS gratitude to the lovely LadyKenz347 for alphaing this at the literal last second. Go shower her WIP Unchained with love!


End file.
